


Let's Make This One Last Forever

by Mossbeast



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Farmboys, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, M/M, also i watch too much TV, i have to remind you that i was (still am) pretty drunk, it seems like an awesome idea right now though, the title has nothing to do with it other than i love blink-182, this is entirely based on a farmers only dot com tv ad that i find pretty catchy, why is that an existing tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 12:45:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6329776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossbeast/pseuds/Mossbeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean tries to date people who don't like getting their shoes dirty.<br/>I'm not good at summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Make This One Last Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Okay first of all I AM DRUNK OFF MY BUTT okay and I'm a sap, I watch too much TV and know that some people really need to get their sh*t together concerning certain things like horses poop and cows aren't purple. There is a German chocolate brand that uses a purple cow but that still doesn't mean cows shoot chocolate milk.  
> Other than that, I do know that work on a farm includes more work (I grew up in a rather rural area and have friends who actually live on farms plus work experience with vets who focus on treating farm animals only so yeah, I know this is nowhere close to reality but I really just wanted to write a happy, sappy story), but it's an alternate universe, so I guess farms don't require as much work there, or something.

Needless to say, the date was an absolute disaster. Dean had not expected it to be anything else. Not only was that guy incredibly, horribly impolite, he was also assuming, bitchy and had this unbearable air of superiority. "You know, not even cavemen go fishing for dates these days. I'm sure my shoes cost more than your boat. They're from an Italian designer." By all means, Dean wasn't picky about people, he had always managed to make friends easily enough, but it seemed that there was nothing in the love section for him. Guys were interested in farmboys - but in those from the semi-nude shot calendars, not those who actually kept cows and horses. Guys liked to go fishing - for compliments, meaningless sex and a hot guy at their side to brag with, not trouts. 

Sighing, Dean dropped himself down on one of the big round bales of straw that sat on his family's big fields now that harvest season was over and it was about time to herd the cows into the big shed and close the windows to the pig sty, and stared into the sunset. The sky was beautiful, a deep, glowing orange that slowly faded out to a light pink which was splattered with dark blue clouds here and there before fading into a deep, fall blue with a few sparkling stars in between. No person would ever make him give up on farm life, he had decided that back in junior high, when he'd still pretended to like girls, and he felt reminded of his promise as he took in the beauty of the world going to sleep right before his eyes. There was no word other than perfect contentment to describe his mood, but there was this nagging little thought of "you'll die alone" replaying over and over again in his mind which managed to once again destroy his newly found inner peace. He sighed heavily and got up from his straw bale, there were horses and cows and a puppy to be fed and they did not give a damn about his non-existent love life, they were hungry regardless of their owner having a boyfriend or not. In a way Dean was thankful for that, his daily tasks really didn't leave much time to be distracted or sulk much about his loneliness, but on a nice, clear early autumn night like that particular one he felt the nagging loneliness and incessant doubt of ever finding someone really suited for him. He wasn't unhappy, but he did long for a nice man to wake up to every now and then. Someone to bake blueberry muffins for in late August and someone to roast apples with over the open hearth in the dead of winter, when the fields that would bear rye or oats in summer were coated in a thick, untouched blanket of pristine white snow. Someone to repair the barn and stables and cow shed with, someone to chase piglets around the property with. Someone to take on real horseback riding tours (not around the paddock like those junior high girls) with bits and pieces for a small picknick in the saddlebags. Someone to train puppies with, someone to venture into the barn with to count the kittens in the latest litter with. Someone to take on a lazy fishing trip early on a Sunday morning. Someone to be happy with, someone to grow old with, someone to love. Just ... just someone, really. 

The next morning he checked his email account, out of habit only, and was surprised to have been contacted by the guy with the expensive Italian designer shoes. "Dear Dean", he wrote, "we may have gotten off from a wrong start. I think we should try this again, we might even go fishing again. You're not half bad, now that I think about it, and despite our differences I'd like to get to know you better." Dean frowned, but replied nevertheless. That guy was a piece of eyecandy, although his personality was pretty much the opposite. "Nerve-vegetable", he mused and grinned to himself. He made sure to double check whether or not his reply had been sent (you can never know with satellite internet in remote areas (I'm dead serious)) and went about his daily tasks. When he finished up with the first half around noon he jumped into the pantry, grabbed two apples and skidded over to the large horse paddocks to take his chestnut mare for a quick ride around the property. Of course she had known he would be there (probably she'd just been waiting at the fence for a tasty treat, really) and took the offered fruit carefully while Dean scrubbed her off with a handful of straw before climbing onto the wooden fence and from up there mounting the horse. She whinnied softly and started into a leisurely trot around the paddock. Horseback riding always took his mind of the problems and struggles of the big, wide world and gave him an anchor in reality, at least for a while. He watched the path from between the horse's ears and smiled to himself, thinking about summer and picknicks with his family and friends. He leaned forward to pat the mare's shoulder and rub her neck when he suddenly realized that it was getting late and he still had a lot to do, so he urged the horse forward, startling her from her slow pace and she reared up, letting him fall off her back before she took off into the general direction of her paddock. Dean winced when he sat up, gingerly trying to move his right arm and realizing that that wouldn't be possible. He got up, really actually pulled himself up on a young weeping willow tree with his left arm, and started the long, uncomfortable trek to the farm house to inform his stable hands that he would until further notice be unable to do his work. Later that evening, his right shoulder had turned out to be not only sprained but actually dislocated (Dean had sworn to himself to never ever let a stable hand pop it back in ever again, whatever the circumstance because that had really really hurt), he turned his computer back on. Now that he was basically on sick leave, as far as sick leave on a farm goes, he did actually have some time to check into his social networks and chat with some of his high school friends. Dean had also taken the time to set up the new date properly and by the time he dropped into bed that night he felt like he had actually accomplished something other than simply dislocating his shoulder by being stupid and leaving his tasks to his helpers. 

The days remaining until his next date went by relatively uneventful, his shoulder getting better and after one day of restless pacing in the kitchen he decided to at least help with bringing in the hay from the fields by driving the tractor from the barn to the fields and back to the barn. The remainder of that day he spent cleaning up saddles and bridles (something he'd kind of forgotten to do throughout summer, to his now rather great dismay) and feeding the horses apples and dry bread. It was unusually peaceful, and once again he wished for a man to share his life with. After supper he let his dog chase an old tennis ball a few times before calling it a night and going to bed. 

The following morning was oddly bright, but it didn't bug him much, he just got up 30 minutes earlier than usual and took his time to actually watch the coffee cook on the stove and sit down with a bowl of oatmeal before gathering up his stuff to feed the chickens and check their nests for fresh eggs. Next he walked through the cow shed, watching two of his stable hands distribute hay and remainders of grass to the hungry animals, pointing out here and there where they had managed to pile up the fodder unevenly (there were only twenty cows, it was beyond him how one would manage to fail giving each animal the same amount of food) and then took off to let the horses out of their stable, so that they could feed on the last bits of grass before it would become entirely too cold for them. The chestnut mare kept nudging him, as if trying to apologize for the fall he'd taken (or begging for an apple, you never know with horses), and he gently slapped her away when she tried to pick his phone out of his hands (she probably had mistaken it for a piece of bread, which meant that she really was just looking for treats). It was another email from Italian-designer-shoes, stating about how he was so very delighted to see Dean again, and another email from an old friend, telling him he'd probably show up at some point or another, since he was sick and tired of city life which he'd been forced to endure ever since his parents had sold their farm. Dean smiled at the thought of getting visited by Seamus, his best friend from kindergarten to high school graduation and actually found himself limit forward to the next few days. 

The following day it rained, so Dean, using pains in his shoulder as an excuse, stayed inside the house and let his stable hands do all the work while he busied himself with preparing fruit loaves and pickles for the winter. Later in the afternoon he made a few scones and tea and set it out on the table in the hallway, for anyone to help themselves if they felt like it. Dean checked his emails again, but found that due to the weather he had no internet connection whatsoever, so he just sat down on the comfortable couch in front of the open fireplace in his bedroom with a cup of tea and a good book he'd meant to read ages ago. Hours passed as he lost himself in a story of magic, friendship and wonder and when he woke up again a new day was dawning, the fire had long burned down and he had a horribly stiff neck from falling asleep while holding himself in a really weird angle to avoid straining his inured shoulder too much. A quick check on his phone verified his suspicion that he was late already and so he jumped up, ignoring his protesting muscles and joints as much as possible (while in reality cursing his age very colorfully) and just changed into a fresh pair of jeans (the thick, durable ones from Levi) and pulled a red checkered flannel over his skin tight black undershirt. It was cool, not cold, so be could actually wear something a little more casual for his date. He packed a small picknick into one of his grandma's handmade baskets and then set off in his jeep to get to the lake where all the locals went fishing. Italian-designer-shoes was there already, watching the murky water suspiciously, but other than last time actually not complaining until they were about halfway out on the lake. "I'm not going to touch that", he said, pointing at the bait. It was a box of wiggly pink worms in dark compost soil, so probably not the most pleasing sight to people who were used to trout fillet or smoked salmon with cooked potatoes and some fancy vegetable sauce. Dean sighed. They had gotten a lot further than last time (Italian-designer-shoes deciding that he would not set foot into the boat because he deemed gotta shoes to be more expensive) but still not even nearly as far as he'd wanted to. "I really don't see how I can do this", Italian-designer-shoes went on, "this is incredibly disgusting. I don't think I shall ever eat fish again. Look at all these mosquitoes! I'm positively certain they will eat me alive!"

When suddenly something smacked against Italian-designer-shoes life vest and pulled him over the rim of the boat into the murky water. Dean could hardly hide a derisive grin, and when he saw who was responsible for this little misfortune he couldn't keep a snort of laughter in. "Seamus, you little shit!", he yelled and the young man standing at the edge of the lake grinned back mischievously. Italian-designer-shoes meanwhile paddled back to the tiny dock and disappeared, not that Dean cared because his day had been made.  
"I thought you were going to come tomorrow", Dean said when he too finally made it back to the shore, where Seamus was waiting to help tie up the boat. "Yeah, but I figured you wouldn't mind me showing up a day earlier", Seamus answered. "It seems like I saved your arse once more. What was this supposed to be, a date with a city brat?"  
"True", Dean nodded. "You up for some picknick?"  
"What is this, another date? I won't save you from this one."  
"Might as well be, you know." He shrugged nonchalantly, trying not to give out how nervous he was, how much his heart was hammering. "Also I really don't believe you could ever be half as bad as that guy."  
Seamus answered with his brilliant smile and a: "Date it is then, farmboy!"

**Author's Note:**

> And still I don't know why I did this. Please tell me what you think, if you like it I'll get drunk again and write a sequel or something, I don't know. Okay I'm sobering out so I'll post this now before I just give in to insecurities and close the tab before posting.  
> Constructive criticism is very! much! appreciated!!


End file.
